Hope
by Sar-kaz-m
Summary: Originally a vignette about the woman who went home with Carl. Now expanded to a multi-chapter fic. The last three chapters are up. NOW COMPLETE!
1. Prologue

I don't really know why I agreed.  
  
Perhaps I too was eager for human contact. Perhaps I was grateful. I was indeed grateful to him, he had saved my life. But even that alone would not have induced me to lie with a holy man, under normal circumstances.  
  
Of course, we villagers had little respect for holy men by that point, since our last priest had refused to baptize a newborn, saying that it was doomed to die. He was lucky the brides took him the next month; we might have lynched him ourselves.  
  
Still, I had not lain with a man since my husband died at Dracula's hands, nearly a year before. Yet there was something about him. He'd been terrified by the attack, we all were, but he did not run. Somewhere behind the hesitant friar was a strong man. A brilliant man too, I discovered, for as we returned to the Valerious manor, he told me about himself and his work. In turn, I found myself opening up to him, speaking of the loss of my husband, my childlessness, how I worked to keep our inn open, how it was to live in fear always. He listened, taking in my words as a sponge does water. He took my hand, holding it in comfort. When he spoke of his companion, and his conviction that they would defeat Dracula, I felt hope for the first time in years. He did that. He gave me hope.  
  
I suppose that was what convinced me. His hope, his mischievous smile, the light in his clear blue eyes, all seduced me. Certainly I made the first move, as he had no idea how to proceed. His lips were soft and his hands strong as we embraced. We taught each other much that night. I taught him how to give pleasure and take pleasure in the act of love. He taught me to laugh again, for he had no shame and was as playful and eager as he was gentle and kind. We came together several times in the night, and between times we lay entwined, holding one another and breathing in each others' warmth.  
  
Of course, it could not last, though the morning was more abrupt than I would have liked. His discovery of the painting led to a rather comical sprawl for both of us, though I laughed and kissed him again when he apologized. And too, I recalled that my aged mother would not know that I survived the attack, and I should go to her. When I left, he gathered me into his arms, kissing me and thanking me, and promised me before God he would see Dracula defeated so that we of the village might live freely again. He was so sure, so warm; it was as if another man entirely inhabited this friar. And that I suppose I gave to him. He gave me hope and laughter. I gave him manhood and purpose.  
  
I did not see him before they left. When we found out Dracula was defeated, the celebrations kept me busy, and too soon, he and his companion were gone.  
  
I do not mourn the loss. We came together for a number of reasons, most of which were selfish. We both received much from the experience.  
  
And now I look down at the greatest gift I received. He has my dark hair, and his father's bright blue eyes. I hope he'll be as kind and as brilliant as his father. I plan what I'll tell my son about his father. How his father was a scholar and a warrior for the Lord God, how he saved me and our village. I have more hope now than ever before. I have happiness. 


	2. Chapter 1

_(AN: I have not seen The London Assignment yet. Originally, "Hope" was supposed to be a one-shot, but someone said they'd like to see more, and well, the idea started brewing in my head, and work was slow, so here you go.)  
_  
Four months!  
  
Gabriel Van Helsing stomped through the great basilica, barely noting the penitents and pilgrims who stared in shock at his passing. Four months of chasing one possessed lunatic killer across Austria and Germany. And if that wasn't enough, he didn't speak a word of German!  
  
Mentally he ticked off the time in his head. Two months spent eradicating a pack of werewolves in the Ukraine. Then he spent a month tracking down a mad scientist in Turkey. Another month spent in Ireland trying to catch a banshee. A half dozen other shorter assignments separated all of these 'adventures', culminating in the frustrating and lengthy hunt through Teutonic lands. He barely had a break between them all, just enough time for a bit of sleep and a bath before the Cardinal sent him off again. He realized that they were keeping him busy. Sometimes he wondered exactly what Friar Carl might have said to the Cardinal that caused the jump in assignments. Not that Van Helsing would have had a chance to chat with Carl; he'd hardly seen the monk in the last – dear Lord, was it really almost a year since Transylvania?  
  
At least this time, Van Helsing had managed to follow not only the spirit but the letter of his assignment. He had been sent to capture the madman and bring him back to the Vatican for exorcism. When he finally had caught the poor fellow, whose possession made him brutally kill young men and women in their teens, Van Helsing had the good fortune to catch him in a rare moment of lucidity. When Hans Opitzer was told that the Vatican wanted to save him, the fellow wept in relief and gladly suffered the heavy shackles Van Helsing put him in for transport.  
  
Van Helsing prayed that this time, he'd get at least a week of rest before being sent out again.  
  
He slammed the confessional door shut and sat. "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned."  
  
The panel slid open immediately. "For once, Van Helsing, you have not!"  
  
Van Helsing grinned a little. "Actually, there ARE other sins besides murder, you know."  
  
Cardinal Jinette snorted, then triggered the door to the Order's Headquarters. "I am sure that the sins of blasphemy, anger, and others have made such a stain on your soul, no amount of confession will ease them."  
  
"If I'm such an evil vessel, why ever do you keep me working for you? Oh, wait, I know, because I'm so good at what I do!"  
  
"And now you add arrogance to your faults."  
  
"Speaking of arrogance how's Brother Carl these days?"  
  
To Van Helsing's surprise, the innocent question brought the Cardinal to a halt. "An excellent question, Van Helsing." He led the monster hunter to a door. "In here, please."  
  
The Cardinal never handed out assignments in his office. Always, the briefing was given in the main workshop, usually with a projector and any number of maps. This small room was new to Van Helsing. A large desk dominated the space. The walls were completely covered in floor to ceiling shelves containing a jumble of books and scrolls and artifacts. The Cardinal sat behind the desk and waved impatiently for Van Helsing to settle in the stark wooden chair before the desk. It was distinctly uncomfortable.  
  
"Now. How much do you know about Friar Carl?"  
  
Feeling vaguely alarmed for his friend, Van Helsing replied, "Besides the fact that he's talkative, funny, has excellent aim, and may very well be as brilliant as he claims to be, not much."  
  
Cardinal Jinette frowned. "Carl Sherman was sponsored to the Order when he was 10 years old. He had just graduated from Oxford."  
  
"At TEN?"  
  
The Cardinal ignored the startled outburst and continued. "He'd been sponsored by a Reverend Michael Bristol, an Anglican minister who once worked for us as a researcher. This minister recognized the lad's brilliance and sent him to us. Carl has been here for twenty four years." Van Helsing must have made another noise of disbelief, for the Cardinal gave him a sharp look. "He has lived here, in the Vatican, in the workshops of the Order, most of his life. He keeps a sporadic correspondence with a sister in Hartfordshire, who cares for their mother, a retired seamstress. His father, a cabinetmaker, died ten years ago."  
  
"Should you really be telling me Carl's life story?"  
  
"Unfortunately, Carl has never truly felt the Call to God's Service. In an effort to appease His Holiness, who was opposed to a layman in the Order, Carl was made a friar. He keeps only one vow, that of obedience."  
  
Van Helsing kept quiet, despite the number of humorous comments he could make about that revelation.  
  
"Lately, Friar Carl has been.... Reclusive. Antisocial. Lazy."  
  
"Lazy? Impossible. Carl couldn't stop tinkering if you cut his hands off."  
  
"Nevertheless, he has not been himself. We had several operatives make inquiries. Apparently the problems began almost immediately after returning from Transylvania. They were acerbated two months ago by the arrival of a letter, the contents of which are unknown. We know his mother and his sister and her family are fine. He has no other family or acquaintances outside of the Vatican."  
  
"I don't understand. Why in God's name are you telling me all of this? Carl is my friend, yes, but wouldn't I have found this out on my own?"  
  
The Cardinal looked Van Helsing in the eyes. "This IS your next assignment. Find out what's wrong with Friar Carl."


	3. Chapter 2

_(Yes, I'm drawing this out as much as possible. big smile But what fun would it be if we didn't have some suspense?)_  
  
Van Helsing shook his head as he left the Cardinal's office. Well, he was getting that break he wanted. But why him? Yes, he considered Carl a friend. The gregarious friar certainly treated Van Helsing like one. The friar always chatted eagerly, providing humor and information, chivvying the monster hunter out of depression, or lending a sympathetic ear. In fact, Van Helsing was willing to go so far as to say Carl was his best friend. Maybe his only friend. Funny how he'd never thought about it before.  
  
Clearly, Carl had not reported some of the more questionable aspects of their Transylvanian assignment. Van Helsing had bullied the man into going, only to land them in mortal danger every minute. But he trusted Carl. Trusted him enough to believe Carl could kill him if it had proved necessary. And Carl had lived up to Van Helsing's expectations. He was very proud of Carl, and had meant to include the friar on more assignments, but none of them since Transylvania had seemed to need the friar's unique abilities. Now that he really thought about it, Van Helsing had barely seen the friar in months. He tried to remember the last time he'd actually spoken with Carl. He'd collected weapons from him before the Banshee assignment. And then..... No, after that, he'd gotten his equipment from one of the apprentices. There was always at least one that knew where everything was in Carl's lab.  
  
The laboratory was as good a place to start as any. Certain he'd find Carl there, Van Helsing strode purposefully through the workshop. Slowly, he began to note that people would look at him, and then whisper quickly to a neighbor. Sometimes, these were accompanied by glances towards the large archway to Carl's lab. Passing by Father Olaf's forge, Van Helsing stepping thought the arch.  
  
"Carl! I've brought back the...." He trailed off, realizing the lab was utterly empty of people. Numerous bits of equipment stood about unattended. Everything was still. Nothing smoked, nothing bubbled. The only noise came from the main workshop. Then a hand descended onto his shoulder. Whirling, he found Father Olaf right behind him.  
  
"He's not here."  
  
Van Helsing rolled his eyes. "Clearly. When will he be back?"  
  
Father Olaf shrugged. "Notice anything wrong?"  
  
"You mean, besides the lack of Carl? No."  
  
"Look closer." The hirsute Norwegian turned back to his forge.  
  
Puzzled, Van Helsing wandered about the lab, just looking. He noticed there were no open books, no spilling pages, no open containers of chemicals. He ran a finger across the lid of some oily yellow fluid, and came away with a grime covered finger. Dust. There was dust on Carl's equipment! That could only mean that the friar hadn't worked on anything at all for a while. That more than anything sent worry spinning through Van Helsing's head. That Carl could go more than a day without tinkering with something was a disturbing idea. That he could not tinker for this long was down right frightening.  
  
Van Helsing immediately set out for the Monastery. All the holy men who worked for the Order lived in one building, set tight against the walls of the Vatican. Even Van Helsing had a cell there. Just a bed and a closet and a few books on a shelf, but still, it passed for home. Other members had more or less, depending on their various callings. Sometimes, one could smell a dozen different incenses burning during one walk down the stone halls. The building itself was designed to be subtle, unassuming, bland, keeping visitors to the Vatican from becoming curious. Order members who were not ostensibly Catholic were encouraged to use the underground tunnels to get to and from the workshops.  
  
Once he reached the Monastery, Van Helsing suddenly realized he had no idea where Carl's room was. He stopped a passing monk to ask.  
  
"Third floor, twelfth door. The side without windows," the monk said, as if that was significant.  
  
"What do windows have to do with it?"  
  
The monk arched a brow. "Brother Carl has never asked for a room with a window as long as I've been here, and that's 15 years! A man could go mad without a regular amount of sunshine." Here the monk glanced around, then leaned in to impart some gossip. "If you ask me, the man already HAS gone mad!"  
  
"I didn't ask you," Van Helsing growled.  
  
He climbed the stairs to the third floor. Most of the doors were open, as the holy men living here not only trusted each other, but distributed cleaning chores amongst themselves. But the twelfth door was shut. Van Helsing knocked, then called, "Carl? You in there?"  
  
He got no response. Another knock, another call, and still nothing. Finally, he dared to open the door, praying there wasn't some sort of innovative booby-trap on it that would do something like dump acid all over an intruder or some such nonsense. Instead, he found a room that looked almost too lived in. A narrow bed was unmade in a corner. The closet door was ajar, and there were several rumpled monk's robes lying on top of what looked like discarded lab equipment. Books were stacked everywhere, piled in corners and peeking out from under the bed. A small desk stood covered in papers, spilling out of the drawers and around a rickety looking chair. The walls were covered in bits of paper with drawings, chemical equations, notes, and observations. The only really clear space was right below the only decoration in the room not bearing Carl's handwriting: a carved crucifix. Van Helsing noticed that many of the books bore a layer of dust, just as the lab had. The only clean area was the space below the crucifix, just enough room for one man to kneel.  
  
More concerned than ever, Van Helsing swiftly rose and began to hunt for his friend in earnest. 


	4. Chapter 3

_(I'm on vacation, so don't expect many updates! Also, I have now seen The London Assignment -- Funny!)  
_  
Van Helsing decided to be thorough. Inquiries amongst the residents of the Order's Monastery revealed that almost no one had laid eyes on Carl in days. The friars who ran the kitchens hadn't seen him at meals, but didn't think anything of it, since Carl frequently forgot meals in favor of work, and so the friars were used to finding leftovers missing in the mornings, evidence of late night raids by Carl. But one young fellow pointed out that fewer and fewer raids had been made lately.  
  
"Of course, Carl could be very busy, but it's really not like him to so neglect himself," the young friar said nervously. "I was apprenticed to him for a while, you know. He really is an all-right fellow. Do tell him I said hello."  
  
Interesting how the other members of the Order saw Carl. Van Helsing discovered that in as much as he viewed Carl as his only friend, the other Order members assumed that Van Helsing was Carl's best friend, and made little effort to get to know the brilliant friar themselves. Monks who cleaned the Monastery refused to clean Carl's cell, citing injuries from various exploding or firing contraptions. The kitchen friars never bothered to set a place for him at meals, he always missed them. The librarian admitted giving up badgering Carl for the return of books, and simply replaced the volumes Carl claimed. Obviously, Cardinal Jinnette saw Carl as a commodity, not a person, given how he so coldly described Carl's recent moods as antisocial and lazy. Eventually, Van Helsing began to understand that the brilliant inventor was probably the loneliest soul in the Vatican. Van Helsing began to see a pattern of shyness and reclusiveness in Carl's routine that spoke of years of disconnection and solitude. Perhaps the man's voluble arrogance was compensation. Maybe Carl was trying to convince everyone that he liked being alone, thereby deflecting the loneliness. No wonder that Carl had taken an eager interest in Van Helsing from the moment Van Helsing had been taken in by the Order. To Carl, Van Helsing must seem so much the same as himself. And Van Helsing had to agree with this mental assessment. They were the same.  
  
So if I were feeling particularly wretched, where would I hide? Van Helsing wondered.  
  
Soon he had eliminated both the Monastery and the Order's catacombs from his mental list of possible hiding places. Not only could he not find Carl in either place, he knew that he himself would not stay in such populous areas. That also eliminated the Basilica, the public buildings, and of course His Holiness's palace.  
  
After a while, the day grew very late, the sky dimmed, and Van Helsing found himself poking though older and neglected chapels. Some were simply unused, but others were dedicated to saints and martyrs that had fallen out of fashion. Odd that there should be fashion in religion, especially Catholicism, but there it was. Still, someone had to use these little chapels, for he found himself at the doors of an old chapel to Saint Joseph the Carpenter, and he could see light glimmering beneath the door.  
  
Curious, and needing diversion, he swung the door open slowly and slipped through the narrow opening. Candles illuminated the small altar in a chapel barely large enough for pews. There were only 10 pews in the place, five a side, and the miniature basilica boasted only a small crucifix hanging before the large icon of St Joseph, his hammer in hand. Poor saint -- cuckolded by God, Van Helsing thought wryly. Just then, he noticed the figure kneeling before the altar. The holy man seemed to be whispering frantically in Latin, occasionally striking his own breast with his clasped hands. It was a posture of penitence common in the old Church in England. Van Helsing couldn't see the man's face, for long hair shielded him. Stepping back, Van Helsing made to slip out again, reluctant to disturb someone at prayer, but as he did, he bumped the door, and it made such a sudden squeal on its hinges, he could hardly credit it. The holy man jumped, startled, and turned to look over his shoulder, his expression one of shock and fear.  
  
Van Helsing gasped as he beheld the penitent's face. "Carl?!" 


	5. Chapter 4

_(Back from vacation. Florida Keys are certainly different. I don't know that this Beantowner really can handle it. Katie -- by all means, feel free to illustrate! I'd love to see that.)_  
  
"Carl?!"  
  
The kneeling friar cringed. Averting his eyes, he said, "What do you want, Van Helsing?" His voice rasped, his shoulders slumped, and his air was one of defeat and desolation.  
  
Swiftly, Van Helsing approached and crouched beside his friend. "Carl, what is the matter? What has happened to you? Look at you, you look terrible." The friar had clearly lost weight, his face becoming gaunt. His hair had grown long and shaggy and was grimy as if the friar hadn't bathed in a while. His skin glimmered palely in the candlelight, and his expression seemed hectic.  
  
"Nothing! Nothing has happened, go away. Go away, Van Helsing." Carl muttered.  
  
"No. Come on, you need to clean up and eat and tell me what in God's name is going on."  
  
Carl actually managed a weak smirk for the blasphemy. But when Van Helsing tried to suit action to words by pulling Carl to his feet, the reaction he got was unexpected. With sudden fury, Carl pushed him away, staggering, and yelled, "I said go away! There is no monster here for you to fight, Van Helsing."  
  
Shocked at the angry strength of the friar, Van Helsing found himself feeling absolutely powerless. "Carl?" He whispered, confused.  
  
"What? Do you expect me to unburden myself to you? You, who unburdens himself to no-one? The great Gabriel Van Helsing, hunter for God! Just stride in and solve all the problems, eh? Well, there's no problem here for you to solve with your blades and your guns, so just be gone!"  
  
"I'm your friend, I want to help," Van Helsing insisted. But this proclamation was met by shrill laughter from Carl.  
  
"Oh, yes, some great friend you are!" The friar's voice lashed him with sarcasm. "So, tell me my friend, where have you been these long months? Kill the monster, did you? Save the girl?" Suddenly, Carl froze, but he kept talking, now in a soft, almost contemplative tone. "Yes, save the girl. Funny, I had never realized the very addictive nature of your work. Oh, bloody and horrible, yes, but every once in a while there must be that spark, that light, illuminating the darkness, the monotony.." He drifted off, muttering to himself in tones too low for Van Helsing to follow. Carl began to move, extinguishing candles one by one in the chapel. Van Helsing could only trail after him, like a dog. Carl started speaking aloud again. "And purpose too, oh yes, purpose. Such a comfort it must be, to know the whys, devise the hows, complete the mission, and move on. Always something new, somewhere different, and never question the reasons, just keep moving. Fascinating, it must be. Is it? You can tell me. Are we not _friends?_" The last word dripped with acidic irony.  
  
Not since confronting Dracula had Van Helsing felt this utter confusion. Sweet Carl, chipper and chatty, had metamorphed into something unrecognizable. This man in friar robes moved not in the quick, birdlike manner Van Helsing so associated with his friend, but in an almost languid fashion, yet the movements were rigidly controlled, so much so, Van Helsing could almost distinguish a tremor in Carl's hands as he reached out to snuff each candle, hesitating a heartbeat. This man did not stoop, but stood at tall as possible, rail thin, his unkempt hair tumbling around his shoulders. In the gloom of night, his eyes nearly glowed with some emotion Van Helsing feared to name, lest that name be Insanity.  
  
"Tell me something else then, oh great hunter. What do you feel, when they die in front of you? The ones you never save. The monsters. No? Cat got your tongue this evening? Well, then you never were one to say anything of your own volition. Pestering, yes, that was the only way I could get you to talk to me. And now, you want me to talk to you. So I am. Is this what you wanted, my friend? To have same old Friar Carl chattering away at you again, so you can suppress all your thoughts and cares, and smile at me indulgently behind my back? Silly Old Carl. Always doing something for someone else. To HELL with that!" Carl whirled on Van Helsing, stepping close. To Van Helsing's surprise, he discovered that Carl was nearly as tall as he.  
  
"I. Have. Had. Enough." Carl enunciated carefully. "You can tell that to the Cardinal, and to all the other sons of bitches in this prison that whisper about me behind my back." He turned abruptly and walked towards the chapel doors.  
  
"Carl. Wait. Please!" Van Helsing stuttered, at a loss to know what to do, but fearing if Carl walked away now, he'd never have another chance to find out. "Is this about Transylvania?"  
  
Pausing, Carl glanced back at Van Helsing. His shoulders slumped again, depression stealing over his face, banishing the hectic look, and leaving behind an expression exhausted and forlorn. "Forget it, Van Helsing. Just.... Go away."  
  
_(Can I just tell you how difficult it has been to NOT turn this into slash? It won't be slash, I swear, but sometimes, my brain really tries to take a left turn....)_


	6. Chapter 5

_(Can I just say how cool this QuickEdit function is?!?)_

The next day, Van Helsing staked out the chapel of St. Joseph. Last night's confrontation had left him shaken to the core. Though he just realized the importance of their friendship, he could clearly see that he didn't treat Carl like a friend. He treated Carl like a pet, an amusement, a twittering non-entity. He teased Carl just to watch the friar rant, for his own entertainment. Only, before now, Van Helsing had never truly seen Carl rant. Last night was a real rant. He began to see that the Carl that everyone knew, or thought they knew, was a carefully constructed façade. He resolved to be a proper friend, and try to get to know the real Carl Sherman.  
  
As the sun began to set, he could faintly hear the inhabitants of the Vatican as they set aside daily tasks and began to gather for the evening meal. Bells rang out from various points in the holy city. Only one small window provided light to the chapel, but Van Helsing didn't light any of the candles. To do so would give away his presence, and he hoped that he'd found Carl's bolt-hole. The only question was, why this chapel? It was little used, obviously, but there were several like it. So, something to do with the saint? Joseph had been a carpenter. Perhaps, in some way, Carl saw the saint as a patron, since Carl created things like a craftsman does.  
  
Van Helsing did not slip so far into contemplation that he failed to notice the door when it swung open. To his relief, Carl entered the chapel. Not even sparing a glance around, the friar went immediately to the altar candles, lighting them, then knelt again before the crucifix and the icon of St. Joseph. "_Pater Noster..... Pater Noster.._" the friar whispered.  
  
Slowly and softly, but not too quietly, Van Helsing walked forward. When Carl didn't move, he knelt beside the friar, crossing himself quickly, and waited, as if letting some wild creature become used to his presence.  
  
Carl raised his head. He stared for a moment at the image of Jesus, then turned to Van Helsing. "I am sorry."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I am sorry about last night. I had no right to speak to you that way. I apologize."  
  
Van Helsing sat back on his heels. "OK, now you've lost me. I come back from a long assignment, realizing that I haven't seen my friend in ages, and feeling, I might add, pretty damn guilty about it, and you chewed me out. Seems fair enough."  
  
Carl gave him a small smirk. "Yes, well, I didn't have to lash out at you like that." In the weak candlelight, Van Helsing could see the marks of strain and stress on the friar's face.  
  
"On the other hand, you've gotten much better at cursing," Van Helsing pointed out. To his relief, the friar laughed quietly.  
  
"Oh yes. I rather think I have." Carl bent his head again.

"Are we friends again?" Van Helsing asked quietly.  
  
Carl's head dipped even lower. "I suppose, though I do think you might find better friends than damned, half mad friars."  
  
"Why do you say that?"   
  
Carl sighed. "It's a rather long story."  
  
Van Helsing, not a tactile person in the least, reached out and laid his hand on Carl's shoulder. "How about this. We go down to the baths, have ourselves a couple of good hot indulgent soaks, then raid the kitchens. Meanwhile, you tell me about it."  
  
For a long moment, Carl didn't move. Then, he turned to look at Van Helsing. His eyes searched the hunter's face, as if weighing his soul. At last, he answered, "All right."  
  
They rose, and Carl quickly put out the candles, his hand still shaking, Van Helsing observed worriedly. As they walked out of the chapel, Van Helsing asked, "Why Saint Joseph?"  
  
Carl's lips curled in an ironic smile. "Because he was a father, in a matter of speaking."


	7. Chapter 6

The two men made their way back to the Monastery, down to the lowest levels, where huge furnaces kept cisterns of water heated. Around each cistern were a number of baths, connected to both the heated water supply, and a non-heated water supply piped in from the many aqueducts that fed the city from the days of the Romans to these. The bathing room was barely ten years old, devised and constructed entirely by the members of the Order, and Van Helsing had come to bless the place on numerous occasions. One could fill the tubs with entirely hot water, and soak away aches and sores. Nearby storerooms contained towels and spare habits. Van Helsing had already stashed a change of clothes in one corner, against the hope that he'd talk Carl into this very relaxing activity. He was a bit surprised at how easy it had been to get the friar to go along with the plan. For some reason, he knew that doing so fell in with Carl's wants, not his. It was one more thing to get the friar to talk about.  
  
Both men quickly prepared baths and settled in. Van Helsing kept a corner of his eye on Carl, subtly making sure that the friar actually washed himself. Carl did in fact wash up, even his hair, and the expression on the friar's face told Van Helsing that the man had almost forgotten the pleasure of being clean.  
  
They cleaned up, drained the dirty water, then refilled the tubs and settled in. Van Helsing waited until he saw Carl's shoulders sag, relaxing into the hot water.  
  
"So, why did you go along tonight? Last night, you wanted nothing to do with me." His tone was casual, and he was pleased to see that Carl did not tense up at the question.  
  
"I know you're a stubborn man, Van Helsing." Carl's voice seemed almost dreamy. He kept his head back and eyes closed. "You would keep coming after me, until you got what you wanted."  
  
"Oh? What's that?"  
  
Now Carl turned, and his eyes stabbed into Van Helsing's. "You're under orders to find out why I haven't been to the lab in two months. Why I haven't invented anything new. Why I'm not being a good little tool of the Holy Order." His voice became hard, but still even.  
  
"So? Make my job easy then, and I'll get out of your hair."  
  
Silence reigned for a few minutes. Carl seemed to be weighing his options. Finally, an expression of loneliness and desperation crossed his face so intense, that Van Helsing nearly jumped. Carl sat back and stared at the ceiling. "You know, all I've ever known is the Order. I was only ten when I came here. Ten. Oh, sure, I had already finished school. Did you know, I went to Oxford? Graduated with honors at ten years and three months old. Prodigy, they called me. Of course, I didn't go to regular classes. Some of the lads could have beaten me to death. I lived with the theology master and took all my lessons privately, thanks to the interest of one Reverend Michael. I later found out that he'd been grooming me for this. Turns out he was a former Order member, a researcher. As soon as I finished Oxford, he brought me here. At first, it was horrible. I was ten, for God's sake!" His voice echoed plaintively. "Bad enough I'd just spent three years seeing my family at only Easter and Christmas, but now I felt like I was on the other side of the world! However, I quickly picked up Italian, and was already fluent in Latin among other tongues. Soon, the Order became my whole world. Learning, you see, was and still is my weakness. The Cardinals threw open the library to me. Every book, every scroll." Carl closed his eyes and sighed, reliving the wonder. Van Helsing stared at him, absorbed in the image of small, frightened boy being seduced by the sheer volume of knowledge held by the Church of Peter. He rather thought the Cardinals knew exactly what they were creating out of that brilliant little boy.  
  
Carl continued. "I quickly devoured," he chuckled, "everything. Soon, I was making up experiments, testing my own theories. Anything I wanted, I got. Greek fire. Oil. Bits and bobs I drew up were forged or carved or cast." He opened his eyes long enough to shoot Van Helsing an ironic look. "Your Tojo blades I invented before I was sixteen! Pretty soon, I was being called on to produce more and more. Create better weapons. Find this information. Compile these reports for patterns, reasons, whatever. I was so busy. I was so lonely. And, imagine adolescence without anyone willing to explain to you what's happening to you. For a while, I could barely manage. I became extremely clumsy, and I kept...." He trailed off. Van Helsing noticed a blush staining the friar's face.  
  
"Kept what?"  
  
Carl wrinkled his nose. "I'm getting pruney. Let's get out of here." The complaint was so typically Carl that Van Helsing laughed the whole time they dried themselves and dressed.  
  
As they walked out of the baths and headed up a level to the kitchens, Van Helsing studied his friend like he would any other stranger. The bath had done Carl good. Color had returned to his face, and clean, his fair hair brushed his shoulders. He'd not cut it in ages, which told Van Helsing that Carl had not worked in a very long time. Previously, the friar always hacked his hair off himself to prevent it from getting in the way of his magnifying glasses, or flames, or chemical fumes. In clean robes, the friar looked like a young saint from some illuminated manuscript, pale and fragile. Yet, Van Helsing reminded himself, Carl couldn't be very much younger than he. Of course, that assumed Van Helsing really was in his mid- thirties too.  
  
As they entered the empty kitchens, Carl moved unerringly to the baskets where leftovers were kept for distribution to the poor and the pilgrims. He quickly selected a hunk of bread and a meat end for himself, and filled a wooden mug from the water buckets. Van Helsing followed suit, and they seated themselves at a small cutting table.  
  
For a moment, Carl paused, staring at the food. Van Helsing assumed he was silently saying grace, but Carl said, "Why is it that today I feel compelled to tell you my life story, when only last night, I might have shot you myself?" Startled, Van Helsing answered, "I don't know. I wonder why you're telling me too. Not that I don't want to hear it." A moment later, he heard the second part of Carl's question. "Hey! Why would you want to shoot me?"  
  
Carl ignored Van Helsing's indignation. "Seven deadly sins, you know. Seven. And you can be damned for just one of them."  
  
Van Helsing frowned. "Explain."  
  
"I'm trying." Picking at the bread, Carl resumed his narrative.  
  
_(But you all have to wait for the next chapter! FYI: A meat end is a hunk at the end of a block of meat sliced up, like at delis. EG: the end of the giant bologna sausage. Good local delis will sell them cheap if you ask for them.)_


	8. Chapter 7

_(Finally, Carl's POV. He's been rather resistant to me getting into his head. I think he read "Possessions" by ThePet. If you haven't done that, go do it now. Go ahead. I'll wait...)_  
  
"I learned every bit of knowledge the Order had, and was inventing or discovering a great deal more. And God forgive me, I knew it. Only now do I see...."  
  
"See what?"  
  
"The path of damnation. My first sin. Pride." Carl held up a finger, and saw comprehension in Van Helsing's face as the man nodded. Carl wondered if the hunter really was listening for friendship's sake, as he claimed, or as Cardinal Jinnette's ears. He didn't really care, Carl realized. "I began to see how much smarter than the others I was. So I became proud. Unfortunately, it had the effect of, well, it's not really an effect, more of a result. I just, I was..." It suddenly became hard to admit being alone.  
  
"Everyone avoided you."  
  
Carl was startled by Van Helsing's insight. "Yes! Yes, that's it. I was made a friar at thirteen. By seventeen I counted myself the most brilliant member of the order. I became eager for work, to prove that I could do it. I needed validation from somewhere, and praise of the Cardinals became my overweening goal. And so my second sin is Greed."  
  
"Hang on. You were fishing for praise. That's not Greed. You were a child!"  
  
Carl rolled his eyes. Perhaps Van Helsing wasn't going to get it after all. "I was never really a child, Van Helsing. I finished University at ten. I was assessing risk factors in fights against the spawn of Satan before I was thirteen. I probably have a better idea than you what evil this mortal world holds."  
  
Van Helsing clearly didn't like that idea. His expression fell somewhere between insulted and annoyed.  
  
Carl didn't give him time to think up a comeback. "Let me put it to you this way. Imagine that you're placed in a terrifying situation, and at the same time handed the one glorious thing you've always wanted. You're torn between reacting to your surroundings and becoming engrossed in that thing you've wanted. What do you do?"  
  
The hunter seemed to mull the scenario over, chewing absently on his bread. Carl himself had yet to actually eat anything. He studied the hunter in front of him. Sometimes, he thought Van Helsing deliberately acted stupid. Carl found it frustrating. The monster hunter was clearly not a stupid man, but he didn't think things through. He was trying now, but Carl, in his newly developed cynicism, didn't expect much. He was morosely amused that Van Helsing suddenly considered them friends. Carl wondered if that conviction would hold out.  
  
"I supposed, I'd be pretty messed up." The hunter finally announced. Carl smiled ironically.  
  
"I was indeed." He sipped his water. "I guess I combined Greed and Gluttony. I wanted recognition. I wanted more knowledge. I was compensating, of course, for those things I couldn't have."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Oh, how about a LIFE?" Carl suddenly shouted. The word echoed around the large kitchen, sending small scuttling things rushing for safety. "And then, I met you," he went on in a normal voice, "and what an education YOU were."  
  
_Friar Carl had heard the whispers of the man the Order had taken in. Some said that he was a long-time Knight, a great servant of the Light. Others said that he was someone wholly new, and the Order rarely took in people without careful screening. More curious than he could articulate, Carl left his lab early that day and made his way to the hospitaler's wing of the Order headquarters. He spotted a young novice carrying a tray of food. "That for the guest?" he asked as if expecting it. When the novice said it was, Carl appropriated the tray, announcing he'd take it on. The novice took him at his word, for who lies in the very Vatican? Carl carried the tray up to the rooms, noting that only one door was closed. He tapped officiously and pushed his way into the room.  
  
The man on the bed sat up swiftly as Friar Carl entered. "Who are you?"  
  
"I'm Carl. How do you feel?"  
  
The man's eyes narrowed. "That's not how the others talk. They say things like 'how are we feeling today?'" His voice took on the unctuous tones of the older Hospitalers.  
  
Carl smirked. "What is your name? Where do you come from?"  
  
The man shrugged. "They tell me my name is Van Helsing. I don't remember anything else."  
  
"Really?" Carl asked eagerly. "Total amnesia! And yet, you can still talk, which means some parts of your brain must be unaffected." What a unique case! "Tell me, do you have any head wounds? If there are, I can compare the locations of your wounds against a standard phrenology model, and we can determine the extent of your impairment." He thought a moment, then went on, "If you had died, I might have gotten permission for an autopsy. Of course, if you'd died, we wouldn't know that you had amnesia."  
  
The man on the bed stared at Carl. "You don't talk like any monk I've ever heard of."  
  
"I'm not a monk, I'm a friar," Carl replied automatically. "Besides, how could you remember what monks talk like?"  
  
The man began to laugh. "Good point." Carl frowned as the mystery man seemed to cheerfully shrug off the questions of his mental state and begin to eat. He seemed nonplussed by the loss of his memories. Carl felt something coil around his heart as he watched the man blithely consume the meal. What sort of life had he lived that he could let go so easily? Here was someone from the outside, ignoring every experience of his life. And Carl, who had no life, felt envious of this man who obviously had a life and could give it up so easily.  
  
_"You were envious of ME?" Van Helsing appeared startled by the very idea.  
  
"Of course. And ever more envious as time went on. You know, you went everywhere, saw everything, and you never CARED. Yet, when they sent me to you in London, that was the first time in twenty years that I'd stepped foot outside the Vatican!"  
  
"You did seem a bit stir-crazy in London."  
  
"I was so happy to be out, I only complained because I felt you expected me to be hating every minute."  
  
"What about all that 'I'm not a field man' whining?"  
  
Carl felt his expression harden. "Well, I'm not. I told you, I hadn't left the Vatican since I was ten. There I was, thirty-three, in a dangerous situation, I'm wearing a dress, being bait for a murderer. I may have well died then and there with no experiences to regret, no older than our Savior, and did you even ASK me if I thought that was a good idea? No, of course not, because I'm Carl, your little whipping boy, am I not?" His tone cracked with anger.  
  
Van Helsing leaned back, distancing himself from Carl's bitterness. "Hey, did I ever once treat you like that?"  
  
Carl's lips curled in a vicious smile. "What does it matter whether you thought you did or not? Tell me, how does it feel when Cardinal Jinnette treats you like a mindless tool?" Carl shook his head at the man's obtuseness. Sighing, he held up five fingers. "So, now we've seen five. Pride. Greed. Gluttony. Envy. Wrath."  
  
Van Helsing tried for a weak joke. "Well, no one can accuse you of Sloth, and you're a holy man, so Lust is right out."  
  
Carl's vicious smile only widened. "Oh, that's what you think..."  
  
_(Whew, this got long! Don't worry, Carl isn't really insane, or possessed, or anything like that. AN The Hospitalers were a holy order dedicated to healing. I think they're still around.)_


	9. Chapter 8

_(Here we go!)_  
  
Carl pinned Van Helsing with his stare. "Sloth I can certainly claim, as these last few months have seen me work less and less. And Lust - ah yes Lust." Carl studied the ceiling idly. "You never even asked about that night. I bet you assumed I stayed safe in the Valerious Manor and watched as those tiny flying horrors attacked the town."  
  
Van Helsing sat up. "They attacked the town? We had no idea! We found the castle, and the pods were already hanging. Then the storm whipped up, and something like electricity tore through all the pods. Next thing we knew, these baby vampires were popping out all over the place!"  
  
Carl laughed bitterly. "Well, while you and Anna were gone, they attacked, led by the Brides. I saw them fly by, and ran down to the town to warn them, but I couldn't get there fast enough. Those monstrosities were feasting on anything that moved." He looked away, not willing to let Van Helsing see the horror that still haunted his eyes when he thought about those terrifying moments, the screams of the townspeople, the shrieks of the vampires, the sickening thud when another person's drained body dropped from above. "She was clinging to a lamppost, while a baby vampire tried to drag her off, to drain her blood and let her fall like the rest. I was terrified, but I had to do something. I grabbed a bucket and threw it. Somehow, I hit the thing, and it let go of her. I managed to catch her, catch her before she hit the ground like all the dead ones." His voice grew distant, quiet. He couldn't talk about it loudly. "I saved her. She'd have died if not for me. Then, suddenly, they were all dying, all the vampires, exploding spontaneously. She said, 'How can I repay you?'" Without even realizing it, Carl's expression softened. "I don't know where it came from. I just leaned over and asked her to lie with me. And she agreed." He heard Van Helsing's gasp of shock, but he ignored it. This was the key to his madness, Carl knew, and he had to explain it. "Her name was Gita. She was.... Fascinating. I know so few women. I wonder, are they all that strong? Like Gita and Anna? Her husband was dead. She had no family but an aged mother. She ran the tavern by herself. She owned it. She laughed like a brook, bright and quick." Carl smiled sadly, remembering. "I told her about our work, how we would hunt and defeat Dracula, and I can still see in my mind how her eyes TRUSTED me, how she believed that we could do it. And then she took me into her arms, and I have never known anything more glorious than that evening." He sighed, and ignored how Van Helsing leaned closer, his expression eager. "I finally felt alive. I finally felt like a real person. We laughed, and we coupled, and we curled around each other and I listened to her heartbeat. Every time we came together, it was like a miracle. And somehow, I felt more myself afterwards. Not long after I woke I found the moving painting. She just kissed me and left. Yet her confidence in me - it gave me hope."  
  
The silence stretched between the two men. Carl was lost in memories of that night. Van Helsing seemed to be pondering the implications.  
  
Finally, Carl sighed and returned his gaze to his companion. "So, now you see. I'm half mad, and all damned. I've tasted the pleasure of sin, and it haunts me to this day. I can't concentrate. This work, this mission," he waved his hand, indicating the whole Order, "is meaningless. I. Don't. Care. I don't. Now I know what's out there."  
  
Van Helsing shook his head. "After London, you couldn't wait to get back here."  
  
Carl raised a brow. "Do you think so? Maybe. After all, London was one terrifying moment after another. But in Transylvania, I learned something."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I can be the hero too." Both men paused to ponder that statement. Carl went on. "Everything is so very VIVID out there. I can't go back to the way I was before. It's like the Carl Sherman before Transylvania is dead. I can't even imagine how I was before."  
  
Van Helsing made a face. "Look, lying with a woman does not change a man."  
  
"Doesn't it? Doesn't that first time change a boy into a man? It was my first time. It was the first time I've ever felt like something I did actually meant something. Saving her, I mean. I saved her life. And in reward, she.... She gave me life." Carl buried his face in his hands, his piece of bread shredded to little more than crumbs on the plate. "So here is this new man. And he is not as interested in creating weapons or collating clues or researching history. I am half formed. I cannot go back to how I lived and what I did before, and yet I have no idea what to do next. There is Limbo on earth, and I have found it."  
  
If he wanted an answer, it would be a long time coming. Van Helsing quietly rose, washing the plate and cup he used and setting them to dry. He pulled an apple from a basket and crunched on it, appearing to think carefully. Carl watched him listlessly. He'd spent the last months in agonized frustration, and now that he'd told the whole sordid tale, he felt drained of all emotion.  
  
"What's in the letter?" Van Helsing finally asked.  
  
Carl snorted. "The Cardinal's spies are thorough." From some inside pocket of his robe, he pulled a battered parchment. "As if my own mental anguish wasn't enough, this came two months ago. Now I have even less of an idea what to do with myself." He set the letter in front of Van Helsing.  
  
The hunter reached for it, then hesitated.  
  
"Oh go ahead," Carl snapped, annoyed. "You know more about me now that anyone else on God's green earth, you might as well read my mail too."  
  
The parchment bore a simple direction: To Friar Carl Sherman, The Vatican, Rome, Italy. Gently, Van Helsing unfolded the paper and began to read.  
  
_(And here's where we'll stop for today, right before the big reveal! Yes, I gave the 'barmaid' a name. Gita is a fairly contemporary name, and rather Germanic rather than Slavic, but that was the name she picked for herself, I swear!)_


	10. Chapter 9

_(Thanks for waiting gang! Big hugs to all my reviewers!)_  
  
The penmanship was shaky, as if the author was not well practiced in writing. It took a moment for Van Helsing to become familiar enough with the style to read.  
  
_To Friar Carl--  
Be not alarmed at receiving this letter. All is well here, and since we were delivered from the evil shadow of Dracula, the town has prospered. I too am well. But I must give you news that I feel is your due. _

_You have a son._

_It was not long after you and you companion with Lady Anna Valerious triumphed over evil that I discovered I was with child. As I had so longed for a child, I felt this was God's blessing on our union, and I cherished it. I was delivered of a boy, and he has brought more joy to my life than I can express. He is a fine boy, with his mother's dark hair and his father's blue eyes. I shall try to raise him to be as good and as strong a man as you. Do not feel that you need to come to us, or support us in any way. I shall do all that I can to ensure his life is the very best possible, and should he show the same brilliance of mind as you, I will have him educated as best and as much as I can. I felt it was your right to know. Do not worry for us, for we are well and happy. _

_I have named him Petru, as we call that saint who's Church you serve so well. _

_Sincerely, Gita  
_  
Van Helsing set down the letter and leaned back, giving a long low whistle.  
  
"God is punishing me." Carl said.  
  
"Do you really think so? She sounds happy."  
  
"Well, yes and no. I mean, obviously, I'm glad that Gita is so happy. But -- I never expected to be a father!" The friar threw up his hands. "I barely remember my own father. And besides, it's not like she even wants me to have anything to do with the boy. I have no idea what to do!" He lowered his head until it rested on the table.  
  
"I believe this is what some of the priests call a Crisis of Faith." Van Helsing quipped, earning himself a glare. "Look, Carl. I don't know what the big deal is. So, you have a son. That's a good thing! You could write to the boy, maybe."  
  
Carl stood and began pacing. "Yes, but she doesn't indicate that she really wants me involved. You read it! 'Do not worry!' 'Do not come to us!'"  
  
Van Helsing sighed. "What does this really make you feel?" He hoped he was taking the right tack with his friend.  
  
Carl paused in his pacing and stared into the distance. "It makes me want to do more with my life than spend it in the bowels of this place, making tools for others to use."

"Now we're getting somewhere!" Van Helsing exclaimed. "Listen, it's getting late, and I have an idea."  
  
"What idea?" Carl asked suspiciously.  
  
"Get some sleep, and then meet me tomorrow morning in the practice gallery."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Van Helsing stood and clapped his friend on the back. "To see if your talent for mayhem goes beyond the laboratory!"  
  
_(Bet y'all can see where this is going from a mile away!)_


	11. Chapter 10

The next morning, Van Helsing avoided Cardinal Jinnette, and took some spare weaponry down to the practice gallery, setting up the training session. He'd just finished when he heard Carl calling him.  
  
The friar was dressed in his usual robes. "I hope you're wearing something more practical under there." Van Helsing said. Making a face, Carl pulled off the robes to reveal a simple linen shirt and some plain brown trousers. "Oh, good. Here, take these." Van Helsing handed him a pair of pistols attached to a holster belt.  
  
"What am I going to do with these?" The friar asked, a note of nervousness creeping into his voice.  
  
"You're going to shoot them." Van Helsing quickly buckled the belt around Carl's waist, then turned and lifted a loaded automatic crossbow from a nearby table. Handing it to Carl, he gave the friar a wicked grin. "We're going to see how you do!"  
  
Walking away, he noted the expression of shock on Carl's face. "Come on, you know the drill, Carl. When the first beastie jumps out at you, start shooting!"  
  
Within moments, he had gained the observation level, and stood at the window into the gallery, just watching. Carl shifted uneasily for a moment, looking around himself, holding the crossbow awkwardly. Just when it looked like he was going to call for Van Helsing to stop, Van Helsing triggered the mechanism that activated all the targets in a chain reaction.  
  
Carl yelped and ducked instinctively when the first dummy swooped at him. But when the next one came, he spun and fired. Even though he still held the crossbow low, he put three bolts into the vampire's head. The third monster did catch him by surprise, and he dove to the side before firing on it. By the fourth target, Carl seemed to gather himself and start taking the game seriously. Soon, he was anticipating the dummies perfectly. Of course, he'd designed the gallery himself. When the last dummy, the 'civilian', swung down the stairs, Van Helsing saw Carl grin widely, and calmly shot three bolts right into the dummy's chest.  
  
And he didn't cause any fires.  
  
Van Helsing whooped in pride and jogged down the stairs. He found Carl standing over the civilian dummy, smirking at its button eyes and yellow straw hair.  
  
"That was a civilian," Van Helsing observed in a teasing tone.  
  
Carl smiled up at him. "You were right, there was something suspicious about him."  
  
Van Helsing let the smile fade from his face. "Well? Do you think you can do this? Learn to use the tools that you create?"  
  
Carl didn't respond right away. Then he slowly nodded. "What else can I do? I can't leave the Order. This work is my life. It's what I do best. But I can't just shut myself up in the lab again."  
  
"What do we tell Cardinal Jinnette?"  
  
Carl sighed and straightened his shoulders. "We tell him it was a crisis of faith. But it's passed. And there's a new field man in the Order."  
  
_(Whew! GO CARL! I think I'm dedicating this story to my late father, who always encouraged me to find what I loved to do and do it. Poor Carl was having an emotional crisis that I think we all get once in a while: What the heck are we DOING with our lives?!? The trick is to figure out if we love what we're doing. If not, then find that which we love and do it. Oh, and there is an epilogue!)_


	12. Epilogue

EPILOGUE  
  
Intellectually, Petru knew that the proceeds from the sale of the tavern wouldn't have paid for even a single year at a university in Paris or Berlin, and he couldn't go to any lesser institution, having already memorized every text he'd ever come across. Over the years, his mother had done her best to feed her son's voracious appetite for learning, sometimes writing some mysterious benefactor, who always responded with crates of books for Petru. He often wondered if that benefactor was his absent father, but his mother would never say one way or the other. All she'd tell him was that his father was a good man, a warrior for God, brilliant and kind and all things good. As a lad, Petru sometimes felt that the words were some sort of excuse, a way to sooth the hurt feelings of a boy who didn't know his real father.  
  
And now they were in Rome, a trip financed by the sale of their only possession of value, the tavern. But his mother was sick, dying really, and she'd insisted that the trip to Rome was of vital importance. So Petru had worked hard to prepare them, selling most of what they owned, even his precious books, and caring for his mother as best he could.  
  
At seventeen, Petru was tall and wiry. He had the dark hair that so characterized the eastern European folk from which he sprung, but his bright blue eyes were the legacy of his mysterious father. He had a curious mind, always wanting to know the answer and willing to work to find it. He also had a talent for the mechanical. As he helped his mother into the great basilica of St. Peter, his name saint, he found himself staring up at the great arches above and wondering at the architectural acumen required to build the great cathedral, so many years ago. His mother knelt to pray, and Petru took his place beside her, though he did not offer his words to God. With the turn of the century upon them, Petru adopted a modern and fashionable disdain for religion, like others of his age, though his mother was fervent in her devotion.  
  
Soon his attention was drawn to a door on the side of the cathedral. It was smaller than the great entrance, and mostly unremarkable, save for the flash of bright sunlight that flooded through it when opened. Two figures entered there, both tall and striding purposefully through the basilica. One was slightly larger than the other, broader, dressed in black with his face shadowed by a slouching hat. The other wore all brown, like a monk, with a cloak and a glinting silver crucifix. He had dark blond hair that brushed his shoulders, and a small smile on his face. As they neared, Petru could hear their conversation.  
  
"...not going to be happy about this one."  
  
"He resisted." Growled the man in black.  
  
The monk sighed. "I know. But the Cardinal is still going to complain."  
  
As they got closer, Petru could see that the brown man was an older man, despite his obvious fitness, of an age with Petru's mother. He still couldn't make out anything more about the darker man.  
  
As if cued by Petru's observations, his mother suddenly turned and gasped, "Carl!"  
  
The two men stopped. The brown one took a step towards them, coming into the light. "Gita?" He asked. "Gita!"  
  
Petru's mother began to struggle to her feet. Petru automatically began to assist her, but the monk immediately rushed to them and lifted Gita right up and into his arms, hugging her close.  
  
"Sweet Mother of God! Gita! What are you doing here?" The monk smiled tenderly at Petru's mother, more tenderly than any man had looked at his mother that Petru could remember.  
  
"Oh, Carl. This -- this is Petru!" His mother turned in the man's arms to grasp her son's hand.  
  
Like a moment frozen in time, no one moved. Then the monk's face seemed to light up.  
  
"Carl?" The dark man said quietly.  
  
"Go on, Van Helsing. I'll catch up." The monk said, his eyes never leaving Petru's face. The youth took the time to really look at the man holding his mother. He had a high brow, and a roman nose. Like someone surfacing from under water, Petru slowly realized what he was seeing. His own eyes reflected in the bright blue eyes of this monk.  
  
"But. But you're a monk!" Petru gasped, not yet daring to voice his suspicion.  
  
"Friar, actually." The man corrected with a small laugh echoed by Gita. "I'm truly delighted to meet you at last, Petru."  
  
Petru glanced as his mother, reading the truth in her face. This man, this friar who walked like a lord or a soldier, and were those pistols Petru could see on his belt? This man was his father.  
  
Gita looked up at Carl. "Carl. I'm sorry, I know I should have written, but -- but I'm dying."  
  
"No," Carl gasped. "The tavern?"  
  
"Sold it, so we could come here. I'm not going back, I know this. But Petru, Petru is still young. And he's brilliant," Gita grasped Carl's coat, and he covered her hands with his. "He's brilliant, and he needs to go to university." Her voice was urgent, as if she were on her last breath.  
  
"Of course, Gita, my darling friend, of course. Anything for our son." Carl soothed her gently. "Come, you'll both stay here for now. The Order will care for you, and I'm sure Petru will be fascinated by our work here." Carl glanced up at Petru, his eyes questioning. Petru could see that Carl understood this all came as such a shock, and that Carl hoped that Petru could accept it all.  
  
Petru smiled at his father. His father! "Mother never lied. She said you were a warrior for God."  
  
Carl smiled back, relief clear on his face. "Your mother saw me truly before I did." He lifted one of Gita's hands to his lips and kissed it. "She had the making of me. Come, let us find some food and rest, and I'll tell you the whole tale."  
  
He led them through the cathedral and down the secret stairs. Petru felt his whole life opening up to new possibilities as he followed his father. Like many of the other boys he'd known back in Transylvania, he'd have a chance to know and be proud of his father, and maybe even, learn to follow in his footsteps.  
  
THE END.  
  
_(BOY OH BOY! Had to get this done, because I've already started my next Van Helsing fic, which will be a wild ride: a crossover fic, a slash fic, a reincarnation fic, all rolled into one! Stay tuned for that, my friends. In the meantime, thanks for reading, and big props to all the dads out there.)_


End file.
